


Cruelty

by sternflammenden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/pseuds/sternflammenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I thought betrayal was your favorite word."</p><p>"No, no..."cruelty." I always think that has a nobler ring to it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cruelty

Barbrey never takes pleasure in the act; in fact, she has always found lying with her brother-in-law to be an exercise in ritual, and she gilds herself with a perfectly-constructed mask, never flinching when his fingers dig into her already-aching body, never permitting the disgust that she sometimes feels at his touch to show on her smooth features. She has learned the importance of circumspection here in the north, and these days, daggers are cloaked in smiles and favors. It is best never to drop her guard, to curry favor while Bolton’s star is in the ascent, regardless of her actual feelings. 

Feelings no longer matter. 

There are secret pleasures that she permits herself to take in their coupling, however. Once Roose had forgotten himself, and had said her sister’s name as he spent himself inside of her. Barbrey had never mentioned it, but she pressed the little slip to herself, treasuring a display of weakness, regardless how small. It pleased her more than any well-placed caress or sweet word ever could. And once Barbrey had gone too far, her nails gouting blood down his back, and when he had seen the look of triumph on her flushed face as he wiped it away, Roose had had the ghost of a smile on his lips. _Another weakness_ , she had thought then, noting the rare display of emotion on his normally taciturn features.

Sometimes she thinks, when he comes to her, that if aught goes wrong with the Frey girl and if Roose were to succeed in his mad plan, she might become Queen in the North. That crown is too heavy for her to bear, and is hinged on too many hypotheticals, but it lingers in her mind at times. Nor would it permit her the retribution that she has longed for; the Starks are a fond memory, her sister is dust, her nephew a regret unspoken. 

One night she rests her hand on his throat and thinks _It would be easy._ The thought does not surprise her; after all, she has been long in the company of her Bolton relatives, and the Ryswells are not known for their innocence either. It’s not the thought of betrayal that so amuses her, although she does long to act at last, and is tired of waiting for the right moment. It’s the thought of the look in his eyes as the blade severed flesh from flesh, the lingering death that she could grant him as she slowly twists the knife. All things considered, it would be fitting. 

She smiles and Roose merely stares at her in the dim light, his hand gripping hers, lowering it from the vulnerable spot where it lays, pinning it to the bed, twisting her wrist cruelly as he does. Barbrey is not troubled; there is time yet, and she will enjoy the wait.


End file.
